Celestial Touch
by It's Fnicking Awesomeness
Summary: Supernatural is the newest and hottest strip club in New York City. It's more than just a normal strip club- it's ethereal, magical… unearthly, even. But as secret deals are made and murders and deadly accidents begin to happen, the fate of the club- and the lives of the people in it- are at stake.
1. Going Clubbing

**So this is my new story, based off of a gifset I saw on Tumblr. I'm looking for a beta, and I am also looking for a skilled gif creator to make gifsets for the story. Message me on here or on Tumblr (my username is the same) if interested :)**  
**Nothing in this story is concrete (I just got the idea three days ago), so if you have any events/couples/plots to happen please don't be afraid to let me know!**

_An old, worn-looking building sat on the corner of 9th and Folsom St, in San Francisco, California. It was quite inconspicuous to the unknowing observer; looking shabby, used, and dull. Red brick covered all four sides of the two story building, faded and cracked; an unimpressive flat black tile roof topped it off. The windows were only on the top floor, just small little things caked with dirt. Ivy had started to grow up the front side, adding to the almost abandoned atmosphere. The two industrial looking metal doors were often graffitied with gang signs, and had trash gathered in front of them. Looking at this decrepit site, one would never think that anything but drug deals and crime would happen there. Maybe that was the whole purpose of the outside, to obscure what went on inside. Because, let me tell you, what went on inside- it was not for normal, everyday people. _

_Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm sure you want to know the story behind this seemingly bland and aged building that I'm describing; the reason for its mysterious air. From personal experience, I can say that it is no easy thing to describe. The sheer wonder and brilliance of what occurred there… it cannot be put into simple words. It would take hours- days, even- to communicate the entirety of the transpired events. That is why I have decided to do it like so, in this story. By the end of my tale I hope you have a better idea of what I mean when I say that this building was, truly, supernatural._

* * *

As the black '67 Chevy Impala motored to a stop on the street and shut off, the driver threw his hands up in the air. "Sonovabitch- I knew Bobby was bullshitting us!" he exclaimed, a steely look on his face. The deserted street, the rapidly falling sun, the sketchy building- it all pointed to a prank pulled on the two men seated in the car by their family friend. It wouldn't be the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. This, however, was low- even for Bobby Singer.

The man in the passenger seat turned and gave the driver what could only be described as a bitch face. "Oh, I'm so sorry for your loss, Dean. Can we just go back to the apartment now?" He leaned back in the leather seat, huffing a breath out. He hadn't wanted to come here in the first place- he had been dragged in the car against his will among exclamations that he needed to "get out more" and "have some fun". '_It's not like I have a _job_ to work or anything_,' he thought, running a hand through his hair.

Dean grumbled, still craning his neck around to look at the building from all possible angels; a small amulet that was hanging off of his neck bouncing on his chest. "There's gotta be something here. A sign… maybe a paper…." He trailed off, every second getting angrier with Bobby. _'What kind of a person does that to a man?'_ he thought, shaking his head and running a hand down his face.

"Well Sam, I guess Bobby got us. Again. This was a sick joke, though." Dean groused, turning the key in the ignition and listening to his baby rumble to life. This car was his pride and joy, given to him by his father, John, before he died. John bought it slightly used in 1967, and it was still in perfect condition thanks to Dean. He never let anyone else drive it- even his brother Sam hardly ever got the chance. Sam knew better than to try, though- he liked having two balls, thank you very much.

As the car turned the corner and started off down the empty road, Sam saw something out of the corner of his eye. His head whipped around, and he made a face at what was before him. He debated not telling Dean so that they could just go home, but he was nothing if not a good person (sometimes). "Hey, Dean- look." he sighed, cocking a thumb towards his passenger side window. Dean slowed down the car, leaning over Sam to see out the window. A grin lit his face, and he quickly sat back in his seat, giving a fist pump.

"Alright! Good job, Sammy. Now let's go have some fun." he cheered. He swung the car around with a fair amount of protest from the tires, and parked it against the curb. Jumping out of the car, Dean tossed the keys into his pocket and walked across the street. Sam followed behind him, making sure the car was actually locked. In front of them, a small white neon sign, blinking lazily against the faded brick wall, read "Supernatural", surround on either side by a pure white wing. Beneath it was a dull gray door, marked by some of the many gangs in this part of the city.

Supernatural, according to Bobby, was the newest strip club in their neighborhood. An old business partner of Bobby's (he refused to call him a friend) had opened it just a couple weeks ago. He had sent a message to Bobby, wanting to meet up there and talk. Instead Bobby ignored him, calling Dean and telling him to check it out for him. "I'm not going anywhere near that idjit unless that club is _good_." he had grumbled. Dean was only all too willing, and had volunteered Sam for the mission as well.

Dean rapped on the door, giving Sam an excited look, complete with raised eyebrows and feral grin. Sam rolled his eyes, already getting tired of his sex-crazed older brother. He wasn't sure if he was going to last the night. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Sam started thinking about the newest case at the law office he worked at. His thoughts were shortly interrupted as a minuscule door opened on the previously smooth metal, and a deep voice rumbled, "Club doesn't open for another hour and ten minutes." One dark eye could be seen through the hole.

Showing a wide, toothy smile, Dean said smoothly, "Hi! Yea, we know, but we're friends of Bobby Singer, and we're supposed to talk to the owner. He said to come by before opening. So why don't you scoot on over, Hulky, and let us in." He finished with a cocky wink, and Sam closed his eyes and mentally face-palmed. One of these days Dean was going to get himself shot.

A low, almost animalistic growl could be heard from the other side of the door and Dean faltered, confusion entering his face. He'd never heard a human make that kind of noise. The little window slammed shut, and there was silence for a minute. "Good job, Dean, you pissed off the Hulk." Sam whispered pointedly.

Dean swayed, shaking his head. Like the guy could actually do anything to them. "Relax, he's not gonna-" Dean's reply was cut off as the door flew open, and he jumped and raised his arms up to his face in a bad imitation of a fighting stance. Sam rolled his eyes- yet again- when he saw that it wasn't the Hulk coming out to beat up Dean. He shoved Dean's shoulder, trying to make him behave.

"Hello, boys. What can I do for you?" came the accented greeting from the doorway. A short man with slightly thinning black hair was there, in a tailored suit and tie. His expression was blank, though slightly mocking, it seemed. He was obviously from somewhere in England, and he seemed like the wealthy and shady "I'll buy your house out from underneath you" type.

Dean shifted his weight, obviously trying to roll with the slightly strange situation they were in. "Um- hi. We're friends of Bobby Singer? He sent us to talk with you. He's really busy right now." he explained, grinning a bit at the end. He didn't like the looks of this guy- ha already looked like he was up to something.

The suited man gave him a searching look, and then turned and did the same to Sam. He shifted awkwardly, wondering if they were in trouble for some reason. "Oh, that bugger- he's not busy. He just didn't want to see his old pal Crowley." Crowley- they assumed it was him- shrugged, unbothered. "Oh well- don't want you to have made the trip for nothing. Come on in." He turned away, walking briskly inside. Looking at each other the boys followed, pushing the door shut behind them. Inside it was dim, with only a few of the lights lit on the ceiling, and they could just make out the interior if they squinted.

Right in front of them was a large stage, taking up a good third of the surprisingly large room. It had a short runway sticking out towards the door, and three different poles set up on the main stage area. It was nicely made, with wood paneling and silky-looking fabrics hanging off of it. Chairs surrounded the stage, up close and personal. To the far left of the stage was obviously the bar, long and low, surrounded by comfortable stools. The wall behind was stacked ceiling high with shot glasses, beer mugs, and wine glasses. They could see tips and caps of every size and color peeking over the counter. Over to the far right was the main sitting area, with booths against the wall and circular tables with white tablecloths. The booths, chairs, and stools all had white leather seats set in dark-colored wood that matched the tables, bar, and stage. There was a spiral staircase over in the right corner, going through a hole in the floor, both upwards and downwards, in the same deep brown wood. The walls were just plain white drywall, with more silky-looking fabrics or wall sconces on them. Overall it exuded a very professional and beautiful feeling- it was obviously not nearly as sleazy as the outside suggested.

The entire time Dean and Sam had been ogling the interior, Crowley had stood by with a small smirk on his face. "Nice, isn't it? Designed it myself. I do take pride in my business place." He gestured around, a small glass of scotch in his previously empty hand. "It's not all bad, you know. Just the reputation." The boys nodded, although they weren't fully paying attention.

"Jesus!" Sam started as the Hulk from earlier came up almost silently behind him. He ended up jumping closer to Dean, who was eyeing the Hulk uncertainly as well. Crowley chuckled, turning around and waving his hand for them to follow. He called over his shoulder, "Don't worry about him- we call him Hellhound, or Hound for short. He's our bouncer slash security. He's not as scary as he looks." Shooting them a large smirk he led them up the spiral stairs, a few steps above them.

Dean leaned forwards to Sam in front of him as they climbed after the owner. "So far this place looks pretty ritzy- I think even Bobby would have a good time." He whispered. Sam nodded, although he didn't have many strip clubs to compare to. It seemed like a restaurant or a hotel bar almost. He supposed that it was nice that it didn't seem like a typical gross club.

As they rounded the last curve in the staircase, they came upon a hallway with three doors on either side, and one at the end of the hallway. Dean chuckled, and Crowley looked backwards, an eyebrow raised. "These are the private rooms, am I right?" he questioned. Crowley nodded, a small smirk seemingly tattooed onto his mouth. Dean nodded, still grinning. He tried to peek into the doors as they passed, but the solid white doors were locked tight. He assumed they were as nice as the rest of the place, but he kind of wanted to see for himself. He might be spending a lot of time here in the near future, and these rooms were the best part of the club.

Crowley opened the door at the end of the hall, ushering the boys in. Unlike the rest of the club, this room was decorated more elegantly, with older furnishings and paintings. There were bookshelves on the left and right walls, floor to ceiling, stacked with books and papers and files. On the wall behind the desk there was a small window and a couple of paintings of historical figures. The centerpiece was a large mahogany desk, with a large leather chair behind it and two smaller ones in front. It looked like an old lady's dining room to Dean. He didn't say anything, of course- he didn't want to mess with Hound again. Sitting in the two offered chairs, the boys waited quietly while Crowley shuffled around, moving some papers. Eventually, Dean spoke up, like Sam knew he would.

"So… we're here to investigate for Bobby. So far, it seems like a really great place you got here." He paused, green eyes lighting up. "I'm probably gonna stop by here often enough myself." Falling silent, Dean looked towards Sam, silently pushing him to say something too. Sam mentally sighed.

"Is there anything else you want us to tell Bobby? I'm sure he'll want to come down and visit after Dean's enthusiasm." he asked, sending a smile.

Crowley chuckled, the laughter sounding more mocking than ever. "Well, you can tell that bloody idiot that he won't get any free drinks out of me. Sending you two in his stead… I never…." He trailed off, shaking his head theatrically. Looking back up, he adopted a more innocent expression. "Also, you can tell him that our performers are… unusual. They are much different than any others in the business. They won't be what is expected." he finished, sitting back in his chair with a small smile.

Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam, who shrugged minutely. They had no idea what was meant by that. Dean was the one who responded. "Well, I personally love strip clubs of all kinds, so I'm sure I'll enjoy myself. But we'll pass on the message." Crowley nodded, seeming pleased, smirking once again. The trio lapsed into silence, and Sam shifted in his seat. The club owner stared on, continuing to smirk, obviously enjoying this. After thirty seconds, Dean clapped his hands together, blowing out a breath. He couldn't stand these awkward silences. "So- how much longer until the club opens?" he questioned, rubbing his hands together. It had been too long since he'd seen a good show.

Crowley glanced at the gold watch on his wrist. "Half an hour. Are you going to stay for the night?" he countered, eyes glinting.

Dean smiled, spreading out his hands. "Why not? I always have time for clubs." Sam rolled his eyes, wondering how it was possible for Dean to be so focused on this one thing. And of course, this meant that Sam had to stay as well, since he certainly wasn't walking twenty blocks back to their apartment in the dark. Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Sam, knowing that he was trapped. Hey, it would do his little brother some good- tipping a stripper was a needed life skill!

"Excellent!" Crowley leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Seeing as the club still technically isn't open yet, I'll get you boys some drinks and we'll have a nice chat while we wait, hm?" Dean and Sam nodded, polite smiles on their faces. Leaning down, Crowley picked up two tumblers and a glass bottle, filling the small glasses with the strong-smelling drink. He handed them to the boys, raising his own half-empty one in a toast.

Taking a sip, Dean gave an appreciative noise. "This is good stuff." he complimented.

"We take only the best here." Crowley said, tilting his head. After taking another drink, almost emptying his glass, he posed the question, "So- what do you boys do for a living?" Looking both of them up and down, it seemed like he was searching them for something.

"Well, I kind of do random things where I can. I fix up cars, I do some hunting upstate to sell the meat, I volunteer at the fire station. Nothing too steady." Dean explained, giving a one-shouldered shrug. He liked the freedom to move around. Crowley nodded, raising an eyebrow, and turned towards Sam.

Sam cleared his throat. "Well, I work at a law firm a few blocks from my apartment. I'm kind of an intern there while I'm in school." Crowley once again nodded, raising the other eyebrow.

"You look pretty big to be a lawyer. I would've pegged you for an athlete, or a gym instructor." Crowley murmured with a grin.

Dean snorted. "He's a health nut. Salads and fruits and everything. He works out all the time." Sam sighed, leaning his head back in his chair.

"Ah, I see. And you look strong, too. Probably from the hours at the fire station?" Crowley inquired back at Dean. He nodded hesitantly, wondering where this topic of conversation was going. But Crowley merely nodded to himself, another small smirk on his lips. Dean sent a look over to Sam, who was just as confused. "And how old are you boys?" was the next strange question.

Dean glanced back at Sam again, before answering slowly. "Um… I'm twenty five, and he's twenty one." These were odd questions, especially coming from the owner of a strip club who they had just met. He was starting to understand why Bobby hadn't wanted to come down here- Crowley was strange.

Sam took the moment of silence to turn the questioning around on Crowley. "So, Bobby told us you guys were business partners once?" he started.

Crowley chuckled, taking a drink and emptying his glass. "Yes, we were. Right old grouch that one is. Always complaining about something. We worked together in the same company for a few years in the eighties. After that we went our separate ways. I to bigger and better businesses," he opened his arms to show his office, "and he to… whatever it is he's doing these days." he finished, waving a hand around in the air.

"Car shop and junkyard." Dean supplied, glad to get off the topic of himself. Never one to share information with random people.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "Ah. Interesting." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his left leg over his right. "What is his relationship to you anyway?" he suddenly asked, tone a bit sharper.

Frowning, Dean leaned forward. "Look, no offense, but we just met you, so I'm not really loving the interrogation here." There was a small staring contest going between him and Crowley, whose face showed nothing but mild amusement. Sam shifted and cleared his throat, but he was ignored in the tension.

A small, unseen clock began to chime in the owner's office, and both Dean and Sam started in their seats. "Ah- ten o'clock on the dot. I assume you boys will want to be downstairs when the entertainment starts, yes?" Crowley asked, standing up from his large chair, argument forgotten. The boys followed suit, placing their empty tumblers on the crowded desk, Dean nodding. The three then left the office, Crowley bringing up the rear. Down the spiral stair they went, entering once again into the plush main room. This time, however, a few patrons were seated at the chairs around the stage, the lighting had been turned on, and a blonde male bar tender was already mixing drinks.

What surprised Dean, however, was that every single person in there so far was female. Sure, he had seen plenty of women in strip clubs. Girls tagging along with their boyfriends (weird, but whatever floats your boat), drunk girls going to have fun, and of course girls who went for the girls. One of his friends from college, Charlie, she used to go to strip clubs all the time for the ladies. But what Dean didn't get was why there were so many. "Hey, are there usually this many women here?" he called over his shoulder to Crowley as they stepped off the staircase.

"Oh yes, of course." he replied, his face neutral. Before another word could be said, the owner put a hand on the shoulder of each brother. "Now, I must attend to business. I want you two to have fun, bring home a good report back to Bobby. Don't worry about tipping, our dancers get quite enough from these rich broads as it is. And drinks are on the house- just don't overdo it, okay?" With a final smile and shoulder squeeze he disappeared into the rapidly growing crowd.

Dean ran a hand over his face, turning towards Sam. "Okay, is it just me, or is that guy on some sort of drug?" The questions, the smirks, the general unnatural feel of this club… it was giving Dean the heebie-jeebies. Looking towards the door, he now saw some males walking into the club, which made him feel a bit better about being here.

Sam laughed, shaking his head. "I don't know, man, but he was definitely strange." He was slightly more at ease than Dean, more trusting in people in general. "Anyway- isn't this what you've been waiting for? The strippers, the alcohol, the fun… don't get all crazy and let your enjoyment fade away." His speech was only slightly (okay, a lot) sarcastic. Dean didn't seem to notice.

Nodding, he declared, "You're right. We're here, we might as well enjoy ourselves. Grab us a seat, Sammy, and I'll get us some booze." Sam protested, saying that a water was fine, but Dean waved a hand over his head as he walked away, showing that he didn't really care. Sam sighed harshly, turning around to look for two empty chairs near the left side of the main stage. He sat down on one and put his coat on the other, scuffing his shows on the floor while he waited for Dean to get back.

Dean, meanwhile, was over talking to the bartender. As he walked up he said, "Two beers, please." and leaned against the counter.

"Sure thing. Never seen you before- what's your name?" the blonde asked in a strongly accented voice as he reached for two bottles. Were all these guys from England?

"I'm Dean, first night here." he answered. "You?"

A small smile crossed the bar tender's face. "Balthazar." He popped open both of the lids and passed the drinks over the counter.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Balthazar? That's a… pretty unusual name." he commented, reaching forward to take the two open bottles.

Balthazar chuckled. "What can I say- some people are born with them." He looked Dean up and down, studying him almost like Crowley had done. "So this is your first night here, hm?" Dean nodded, taking a swig of his beer. Balthazar smiled wider. "Well, I think you'll enjoy yourself very much, so I hope to be seeing you more often."

Dean nodded, eyes already scanning the room for Sam. "Yup. Thanks, Balthy." he said, spotting Sam and turning to leave.

"No, don't. Just Balthazar is fine." he corrected. Dean froze for a second, before nodding and walking briskly away towards the two chairs Sammy had secured. Jesus, for a second Dean had thought that Balthazar was going to pull a Hulk or something.

Sitting down, Dean handed Sam his drink. "The bartender's name is Balthazar. He has an accent, too. What is it with the names and accents around here?" he demanded quietly. It was seriously weird- did they hire any people who didn't match that criteria? "He's also got some creepy personality- I thought he was gonna kill me when I called him Balthy." Sam sighed and didn't answer, merely taking a sip from the bottle. He personally wasn't surprised that Dean had already annoyed someone. "This is good stuff. I wonder where they get their booze from…." Dean wondered aloud, changing topics just like that as he swirled his beer around in the brown glass bottle.

Suddenly the lights dimmed once again, and a single spotlight was shone on center stage on the pole there. Dean sat up straighter as the mumbling from the crowd died down. Over hidden speakers came Crowley's calm and cool voice. "Welcome ladies- and gentleman- to Supernatural. Remember, no touching, and keep it in your pants. Get ready for the best night of your life… our boys have a celestial touch, and they're all yours."

The two brothers quickly turned to each other, shock on their features. "Wait- boys?" Dean asked incredulously.


	2. Meet the Dancers

**So here's the next chapter! I know there's lots of new characters and it's a bit confusing, so I made a visual guide at itsfnickingawesomeness. tumblr post/ 55267340200 (just take out the spaces). Also, the face claims for each character are listed in bold when they appear. **

**Also, I'm still looking for A) a beta for this fic, and B) a talented GIF maker to gif some parts of this story. Message me here or on Tumblr (username is the same) if interested :) And I'm still looking for any opinions on events or ships (so far I have one vote for Samifer) you would like in this story, cause I have only the basest plot down.**

* * *

Castiel sighed, scratching at his head. Looking in the mirror, he ran both hands through his hair, making it stand up more. After studying his reflection for a few more seconds, relatively satisfied, he turned around on his chair, facing the other mirrored wall and his friend Gabriel. He was, as usual, snacking on candy- this time it was an entire family size bag of M&Ms. He could always be found with some sort of sweet or another in his hand or mouth- it was a wonder he wasn't as large as a whale. Castiel shook his head, asking in his deep voice, "Do you ever stop eating?"

Gabriel shook his head, mouth full of chocolate. "Nope! I ask, why stop? There's plenty here!" he answered with a cheesy smile. Castiel stared, squinting, shaking his head once again. Gabriel paused in his eating, twisting in his seat, giving him a look. "Cas, we've talked about this- don't stare."

Castiel nodded once, rolling his eyes the smallest amount, and turned his head to look towards the door and the clock mounted above it. "We've still got ten minutes before we need to be out there." he remarked. He was already dressed, if you could call what we was wearing being dressed. A short pair of white shorts, a blue tie, a tan trench coat, and- to top it all off- a pair of strap on wings, with black feathers. Gabriel was dressed in a short pair of denim shorts, with an opened white button down shirt with light brown wings underneath. It was a relatively standard outfit, with only slight variations throughout all of the dancers. It was certainly better than other things Crowley could be making them wear.

Gabriel suddenly swung his legs off their perch on the counter, spinning around to fully face a startled Castiel. "Why don't we go play a prank on Lucifer?" he suggested, waggling his eyebrows, candy momentarily forgotten. "Or, even better, Michael?" He stood up, already heading to the closed door. What else was there to do in the ten minutes before show time?

Sighing, Castiel leaned forward and gripped the corner of Gabriel's shirt as he passed by. He was always playing pranks on everyone, but he especially liked to pick on Michael and Lucifer because they got upset the most. He used to prank Castiel all the time, but eventually gave up after all he got was a sigh and a disapproving frown. Castiel didn't like it when they fought, but he was somehow always caught in the middle. "Gabriel- do you remember what happened last time? Michael nearly stabbed you, and Lucifer literally hit you with his car." His wide blue eyes were intent and concerned, and it warmed Gabriel's heart. Or, it would, if he listened to those kinds of things, that is.

"Of course I remember! I'm fine, they're fine- no lasting damage! Besides, even you have to admit, those were some good pranks." He chuckled, remembering Michael's face when the shower had splat sticky glitter over him, and Lucifer's when he found his Nair-induced bald spot. The bodily pain and staying low for a few days had been totally worth it. He slipped quickly past Castiel, giving a jaunty wave as he went down the hallway.

Standing up, Castiel poked his head out the door, looking down the hallway, seeing nothing but the seven other doors in this underground level. The rooms were Raziel and Haniel, Camael and Zadkiel, Raguel and Jophiel, Azrael and Ariel, Michael and Lucifer, Raphael and Uriel… and a blank door. He paused for a moment, staring at the plain white door directly across from Gabriel's and his room. That was where Sandalphon and Metatron's room had been, before. Now the plaque with the swirling script was removed and thrown out, the twins already almost forgotten, their spots as of yet unfilled.

Metatron had been found 10 days ago, in their room, stabbed in the heart. No one knew how it happened or why, or who did it. The security cameras didn't show anyone coming into the club beforehand or leaving afterwards. Of course, people started pointing fingers at each other, throwing accusations, especially at Sandalphon. He was, of course, the only other dancer to have a key to their room. He vehemently denied the claims, of course- he was his only brother. Castiel had never put the blame on him- Sandalphon was completely distraught at the news. No one could be that good of an actor.

Of course, all blame on him was effectively wiped away when he was found six days later, in his room, stabbed in the heart. The whisperings and blames started flying again, no one knowing how this was happening, everybody panicking. Haniel and Raphael had gone to Crowley, begging him to shut the club down, to get the FBI, anything. Crowley had refused, saying that eventually it would stop, that there was nothing that could be done. All had been quiet after that.

"When do you think Crowley will find new dancers?" he asked absentmindedly to the hallway. It was a rule that the club had sixteen dancers. No one knew why, but it had been that way since the place opened. No more, no less.

Raphael **(Tom Hiddleston)** poked his head out of his open door, wearing his trade-mark grin. He and Uriel were in the room right next to the empty one, across the hall from Raziel **(David Tennant)** and Haniel **(Bradley Cooper).** "Cheer up, Castiel, I'm sure we'll find two more dancers soon. If not, you and I can always put on some wigs, yeah?" he called. His British accent, light brown eyes, blinding and infectious smile, and altogether amazing structure made him very popular with the clients.

Castiel grinned slightly. "Yes, I'm sure Crowley would love that."

"Not with you ugly lumps. Maybe with someone prettier. Like me." Jophiel **(Matt Bomer)** teased from down the hall, his dark brown curls bouncing and bright blue eyes flashing as he leaned out of his doorway, dressed in nothing but black shorts and a white shirt collar, golden brown feathers framing his shoulders.

"All of you, just quit it." Zadkiel **(Jeremy Renner) **yelled from the other end of the hallway, not even leaning out his door. Everyone fell silent- Zadkiel had that effect on people. You were never sure what he was thinking or how he was feeling, and it was unsettling. "If anyone's dressing in drag, it's gonna be me." Laughter rebounded against the plain white walls, and even somber and silent Azrael **(Aidan Turner) **let out a quiet chuckle.

Camael (**Chris Hemsworth)** marched out of his room, wearing khaki shorts and a tight gray tank top, smoky gray wings sticking out behind him. He took control over the goup, as always. "Alright, boys, it's time to head upstairs. Remember, tonight Crowley said we had-" The biggest dancer was interrupted as a shriek came from Michael and Lucifer's room. Raphael immediately ran next door, and there was silence for a few seconds. Then they could hear Raphael's "Ehehehehe!" reverberate down the hall, and Gabriel waltzed out of the room, wearing a shit-eating grin.

"GABRIEL!" Lucifer roared, storming out after him. Castiel sucked in a breath as he saw Lucifer's coal-black wings now streaked with hot pink. He heard snickers as Raguel **(Orlando Bloom) **poked his shaggy head out next to Haniel's, and little Ariel **(Nicholas Hoult) **had emerged from his and Azrael's room and was bent over his knees laughing, black and white wings askew.

Uriel **(Tom Felton) **walked out of his room, black leather jacket open and snow white wings peeking out the bottom. "We're gonna be late guys." he sighed, making a face at Michael trying to hold Lucifer back from taking a swing at Gabriel.

"He's right, guys- we need to go. Save this for later." Castiel said, following the trail of dancers going towards the spiral stairs at the opposite end of the hall. He head Lucifer growl some final curses at Gabriel, promising to get back at him, before running into his room to grab a spare set of wings. Raziel came up behind Castiel, still grinning, his hair sticking up more than ever above the red wings he wore.

"Your roommate is something else." he chuckled, shaking his head. Castiel simply nodded his head in response, a grin twitching at the corners of his lips. He certainly was something. But Castiel wouldn't give up this family for anything.

* * *

Dean shifted in his seat, looking around, wondering why the hell they were here then. "Dude- this is a chicks' strip club. Or a gay strip club." he hissed. Neither of which he wanted to be in. This was not what he had been expecting.

"Dude, I realized." Sam whispered back, shrugging back on his coat, ready to leave. He hadn't even wanted to come to a regular strip club, let alone one where the strippers were male. Do whatever you want with your life, that's cool, but he did not need to see it.

The boys jumped a foot in the air as a hand clamped down on each of their shoulders, pressing them back down in their seats. "Boys, please, stay a little while." Crowley leaned into their peripheral vision, grinning down at them.

Dean chuckled nervously, a smile half on his face. "Listen- we didn't know that this wasn't a normal strip club. We were only supposed to be checkin' this out for Bobby." he said, hands in the air, looking at Sam to help him. Sam gave him a wide-eyed look, one that clearly said, _Dude you're on your own._ Dean sent him one back that said, _Screw you._

"Well, I did tell you that our dancers aren't what's to be expected, didn't I?" Crowley retorted, a glint in his eye.

Swallowing, Dean responded, "Well, yea, but-" Hey, he's not the one who's going to law school. He gave Sam a subtle kick, which was only returned harder.

"No, no, the show's about to start. Leaving now would just be rude." Crowley said, lifting a hand off Sam's shoulder to gesture up to the stage. He gave Dean's shoulder one last hard squeeze. "Stay. I _insist._" Then he was gone in the ever growing crowd.

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean breathed incredulously. This was officially the weirdest night of his life. Okay… second weirdest, after Rhonda Hurley. Just because he had kind of enjoyed it didn't mean it should be a regular thing. Well… make that third place. That one time he snuck into Comic-con….

"I don't know." Sam answered, a shocked look never leaving his face. He was trying to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to see, though he wasn't sure how exactly one prepares oneself for a gay strip show. He didn't have very much time as a curtain across the very back of the stage started to roll across to the side, and a cheer went up from the crowd.

Up on stage, five men stood in a row, all in ridiculously short shorts. Three had shirts or jackets (which Sam could see weren't buttoned up in the front), and two just had something around their neck (one had a bow tie, the other had a white shirt collar). They stood with their backs to the audience, and each one had a pair of wings on their back, each set a different color, though some were covered by the shirts and just poked out the bottom. They wore no shoes, and Sam couldn't see any sort of jewelry or glitter that he had expected from male strippers. They were all young, lithe, and fit. They stood perfectly still until the beginning beats started to pound out of the hidden speakers.

It was some sort of new-age electronic music, and Dean didn't like it. What was the point of machines making weird, grating noises when you had things like guitars and drums? It did have a strong beat, which is why they used it for shows, he supposed. The left-most, right-most, and middle men (all wearing shirts) spun around and immediately went to the poles. They muscled their way up and down the shiny metal, doing gravity-defying spins and hangs, muscles making themselves apparent. Dean was almost hypnotized, watching these guys maneuver inhumanly around the small pole, throwing body parts around and twirling at the speed of light. He'd never seen pole dancing this good, male or female. He had to give it to the guys- they were talented.

Sam, meanwhile, was focused on the two males in front of the poles, who were currently working the females at the edge of the stage. They ground against each other and the air, bodies moving fluently and quickly, making them look like some sort of mirage. They danced and bounced around the stage and up and down the runway, and Sam had to admit, he was impressed. Some females couldn't work a stage that well, and these guys obviously were doing amazing, considering the amount of cash already on the ground beneath them.

Three songs later, the techno mix was over, and the five guys did final strutting up and down the stage, collecting last minute money and sweeping up the previous "donations". The three that had shirts on tore them off theatrically, earning a few more screams and thrown bills. With large smiles and sly waves, they danced off the stage back behind the curtain. The screams from the crowd dissolved into murmurs and giggles, and people quickly got up to get more drinks from the bar or over to the atm to get more cash. The brothers turned to each other, mouths hanging open, unsure of what to say. Dean was the first to find his voice.

"What the hell did I just watch?"

Sam laughed once, mouth still open. He shrugged, a disbelieving grin on his face. "I have no clue. But I gotta admit, they were pretty damn good."

Dean nodded slowly, eyes going back to the empty stage. "Yea, they were." he agreed gruffly, tapping the arm of his chair. "Do you think that's it, or is there more?" he wondered, _definitely_ not too curiously.

Blowing a breath out through his lips, Sam said, "I dunno. You'd think they'd have more dancers, but this place hasn't exactly conformed to the norm." Dean grunted in agreement. He opened his mouth to muse further when lights on the stage began flashing in beat to another techno song, and everyone in the club hushed down and ran back to their seats.

Five new dancers appeared from behind the curtain, each dressed similarly to the last group. This time, two had something on up top, and three didn't. There were yet more different wings and neck accessories, and no shoes. As the song sped up and intensified, the three shirtless men jumped up on the poles and began to work them just as well as the last group. They managed to make it look completely different and new and amazing, yet Sam was certain they used the same moves. Either way, if Sam had to be honest, they all deserved the wads of bills being chucked up at them.

Up front on the runway, the two clothed men were in the process of removing their clothes as slowly as possible, with as much swiveling and grinding as possible. The women closest to the edge of the stage kept jumping up to try and reach them, but the guys just inched away, smirks on their faces. They danced around each other, using various limbs (and teeth) to remove the single piece of clothing. The shirts slowly came off, revealing tanned muscles inch by inch, and yes, Dean was allowed to stare, because let's be honest here, this was an amazing strip show, even if it was a different gender than he was used to. Credit where credit is due, and all that. Once the shirts were off they got creative, starting to strip the bottoms, too, but stopping before anything could be seen. The women below were shouting at them, and tossing money like no tomorrow.

And again, after three more songs, the group gathered up their clothing and money and pranced off the stage. This time almost everyone in the room got up to get more bills and drinks, chattering up a storm. "I need another drink." Dean muttered, getting up and pushing his way through to the bar. Balthazar was still there, mixing up fruity drinks and martinis for all of the girls surrounding the counter, occasionally sending winks and smiles to them. As he saw Dean approaching, he smiled brightly and immediately grabbed two beers.

"How're you enjoying the show?" he questioned, opening them deftly and sliding them across the counter, turning towards a blender on his right.

Dean grinned, shaking his head. "I'll be damned, but I'm actually having a good time. I gotta give it to the guys- they're damned talented." he admitted, taking a swig of his beer.

Balthazar laughed, handing a pink drink to a well-dressed business woman. "I thought so. Not what you expected, but something you like. It happens more often than you'd think. And," he said, holding up a finger as Dean took a step away, "the main event hasn't even happened yet."

Dean raised an eyebrow, and Balthazar sent him a devious smirk before turning away to flirt with more customers. He stood there for a second, slightly confused, before attempting to shrug it off and walk back to Sam. Handing him his beer, he threw himself back in his chair, taking a deep drink. "According to Balthy over there, the "main event" has yet to come." he announced.

Sam raised his eyebrows, taking a drink. "Oh really? Can't wait." he said, only being half sarcastic. If that wasn't even the main event, what else could the angelic dancers produce?

"Ladies and gentlemen, for the last on-stage performance, please welcome Uriel, Raziel, Lucifer, and Castiel." Crowley announced, each dancer coming on to the stage as their name was called. Bright white wings, red wings, and two sets of black wings could be seen as the dancers walked on. The one in the trench coat- Castiel, apparently- brought up the rear. Dean's eyes locked onto him. Sure, all of the dancers were handsome, but in Dean's opinion, this guy got the award for the night. His dark tousled hair and bright blue eyes were visible from back here, and Dean found himself actually interested in what was under that trench coat.

Another song started, but this time it was slower, less base-filled, more… spacey. The four on stage started to dance, and damn if Dean didn't start in his chair. Castiel and the smaller blonde one- Uriel?- stepped up to the runway and started to take off their coverings, just as slow and sensual as the last groups had been. But the last groups didn't have this level of grace and talent, and they literally moved like something from out of this world. Dean couldn't take his eyes off of the trench-coated dancer, who moved as if he was made of water or light.

Sam watched as Lucifer and Raziel took to the poles, one on either side of the stage. If he had thought that last ones had been talented, then these were gifted geniuses with god-given skills. They seemed to barely grip the pole, and they spun and flashed around it like birds in flight, limbs out and in, heads up and down. He watched in amazement the entire time, mouth slightly open, wondering how that was even human.

These four songs seemed to go by much quicker than the other sets. Dean glanced appreciatively once again over Castiel's body as he bent over collecting money, giving it a quick mental nod of approval. He was fit for a nerdy looking dude in a trench coat. Sam looked over to Dean, mouth forming words that didn't seem to fit. "That was… unbelievable." he finally said, throwing his hands up in the air.

"I'll say." Dean replied, eyes going to Sam as the stage lights dimmed. "This club might not be so bad." He grinned evilly as a thought came to him. "We should still tell Bobby to come, just to see what he does." He sure as hell knew the old grouch wouldn't take it as well as they had. He didn't appreciate things like this. He liked beer, guns, and cars, and that was about it.

Sam laughed, throwing his head back. "That would be terrible. But hilarious."

"Alright ladies and gents, now comes the floor time. Remember, no touching, and private rooms are to be discussed with the dancers only. Enjoy the rest of your night." Dean glanced down at Sam's watch as Crowley's accented voice came out over them, surprised that it was already almost eleven. They had spent an hour just sitting there, watching the dancers. He hoped that didn't say anything about their subconscious or anything.

Sam look confusedly around, wondering what was happening now. There was nothing on the stage, but people were still milling around with money and drinks. _What does floor time mean, anyway? _He looked back at the stage, and over near the right-hand corner of the stage, he could see all of the dancers filing down a set of stairs, beginning to walk among the customers. _Oh…._ The angel strippers were currently walking through the crowd, beginning lap dances, personally strip teases, and in some cases leading women up the stairs, no doubt to one of the "private rooms".

"Ah, shit." Dean cursed as he saw one of the strippers walking their way. He was tall, with bright blue eyes and Sam-length light brown hair. He was wearing a dark blue (open) button down shirt white shorts, so at least he was clothed. He stopped before them, giving them a bright smile.

"Hey, I'm Haniel." he introduced himself. "I've never seen you guys here before- first time?"

Sam nodded. "Yea… to be honest we weren't even supposed to be here." he replied.

Haniel nodded like he understood. "Right. So you guys are together, right? It's always good to see a couple in h-"

"Dude, we're brothers!" Dean cut him off, feeling a bit nauseous. _Why does everyone think that? _

Looking surprised, the dancer let out an "Oh." Then, for some unknown reason, comprehension seemed to dawn on his face. "_Oh._" He gave another smile, this one more tricky looking than the last, and nodded at them. "I see. Well enjoy the rest of your night. Hopefully we'll see you again." He walked a few tables down before a clean-cut guy flagged him down, putting a bunch of bills in the waistband of his pants. The boys looked away before it could get up close and personal.

"I don't know about you, but I'm ready to leave." Dean muttered. "This place is creepy."

"Uh, yeah." Sam agreed, standing up.

As they stood up to heads towards the exit, Crowley appeared suddenly in their way. Dean jumped, cursing. How was this guy seemingly everywhere? "Boys, one thing before you go. My office?" he stated, gesturing to lead the way towards the stairs. Dean looked at Sam, an annoyed expression on his face. Sam shrugged, widening his eyes. Rolling his, Dean turned back to Crowley, sending him a tight-lipped smile. Doing an about-face he trudged towards the spiral staircase, occasionally having to bend and twist to avoid the unseemly behavior going on in some of the chairs. These strippers obviously were masters of the trade. He was starting to get a headache from all of the creepiness and weird techno music.

As they climbed the stairs, the pumping music became a bit quieter. As they walked down the hallway to Crowley's office, Dean could hear giggles and assorted thumps from at least three of the private rooms. He turned his head away, making a face. Luckily the cluttered office seemed to be soundproof, as all was silent as they walked in and shut the door. Taking their seats from earlier, they stared at Crowley expectantly. He took his time in pouring himself another glass of alcohol, sitting down, and staring at the boys.

He took a breath before talking. "The club opens at ten, stage performances go until eleven. The dancers work the floor until two. The club officially closes at three, and in the last hour we give just a few last dances and floor chances before kicking the drunken mob out. Dressing rooms are in the basement, quite plain I'm afraid. Private rooms and my office are upstairs as you can see, and we don't serve food, so there's no kitchen or anything of the sort." He paused to breath, giving the boys a chance to let the knowledge sink in. "Balthazar is our bar tender- I'm sure you've already met him- though he's been known to do some dancing of his own back there occasionally. Hellhound- you I know you've already met- is the security and bouncer, making sure nothing gets out of hand. We have fourteen dancers- usually we have sixteen. Obviously our theme is angels and the like, so they're all given stage names of archangels. Though there are a few that came here with names like that already." Another breath. Dean and Sam nodded, looking quite confused as to why they were being told this. "I don't allow any unsavory acts on the floor, and what goes on behind closed doors is not my business, so long as it's nothing illegal. The base pay isn't very good, I'm afraid, but what the dancers get in tips more than makes up for it. I, of course, take a small percentage- gotta keep the place running somehow. We're open every night except Sunday night. All in all I think you'll find it a more than pleasant club." He took another breath, and Dean waited wide-eyed for more word vomit, but Crowley leaned back, obviously finished, with a slight smirk- as usual- on his face.

There was silence for a moment as the brothers tried to absorb all that had been said. Sam, always having a bit of an edge in that area, was the first one to speak. "Um, wow. It sounds like a well run place. And, no offense, but why are you telling us?" he asked, getting down to the main issue. This guy was just getting stranger and stranger. Dean blew out a breath, thinking the same thing.

Crowley huffed a laugh, his smile widening. "Isn't it obvious?" he said, looking expectantly at the boys. When it became apparent that it wasn't, Crowley rolled his eyes. "You morons- I want you two to be my two new dancers!"


	3. Say Goodnight

**So I have found a wonderful beta- 00skyfall on Tumblr, VillainShipper on A03. She's really awesome and helpful, so hopefully my writing will be better with her here :) I'm also s****till searching for a gif maker, because I would love to have scenes gif-ed at some point. **

**As always, opinions on plots, events, and ships are welcome any time. If you draw any fanart or anything you an send it to me and I'll link it to the story and put it on my Tumblr!**

**Here's a new visual guide for the different sets of wings every dancer has :) itsfnickingawesomeness. tumblr post/57160756478  
**

**Sorry for the shortness of the chapter, but I've been in Michigan for a week at the Jr Olympics so I've been kinda busy. Not sure when the next chapoter will b, because I'll be on a boat for a week straight next week, then I'm doing GISHWHES the next week, then school starts :/  
**

**Follow me on Tumblr at itsfnickingawesomeness for new chapters, updates, fanart, and visual guides for the story.**

* * *

Dean sat back, face slowly draining of emotion and brow furrowing. '_Did he just….'_

"Wait… what?"

Crowley rolled his eyes, muttering to himself. "Are you two monkeys deaf? I said I wanted you to be my two new dancers! We have two spots open. You are two handsome young men. Perfect fit!" He looked expectantly back at them, setting his tumbler on his knee and linking his fingers together. His x-ray stare was really starting to give Dean the creeps.

"We've never… uh… we don't know how to do… _that_." Sam stuttered, eyes wide. Why would Crowley even think that they could?

Smirking once again, Crowley picked back up the glass and gestured at them with it. "Look at you- you're good-looking and strong, you can learn how. From the best!" Sam furrowed his brow, looking down at his lap, seemingly in thought. It's not like either of them had steady jobs, and to be honest, they had both enjoyed the show tonight in one way or another…. Sam's wandering musing came to a halt as Dean snorted.

"Wait wait wait, why are we even _discussing_ this?" Dean asked incredulously, leaning forward. "I mean," he laughed dryly, "_we_," he gestured to the two of them, "are _not _strippers." He made to stand up, putting a hand on Sam's shoulders. "Come on, we're done for the night." He turned and stormed out, a sour feeling in his gut. It wasn't offensive, really- hell, the guy just offered them a well-paying job basically on looks alone. It just… unsettled him, is all. He wasn't gay, and dancing every night for gay men and hormonal women didn't appeal to him. But it didn't help his tangled thoughts when he thought back on the performance earlier and how talented this guys really were. He twisted his lips, running his hand over his face.

Back in the office, Sam stood up, shooting Crowley an apologetic look as Dean walked out the door. "Look, thanks for the offer and the drinks. You have a really nice club." He awkwardly waved a little, rolling his eyes as Dean impatiently called his name. Why was he always the one trying to clean up Dean's rudeness?

As Sam turned and walked out too, Crowley called out, "You're welcome back any time, boys. The offer still stands!" He sat back in his chair, a smirk playing along his lips as he fiddled with the glass in his hands. Sam could feel his eyes on his back all the way out the door.

Dean stood waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall, a scowl on his face. "I can't believe that guy. Why would we want to be strippers? It's not a real job…." he grumbled as they started walking down the hallway, shoving his hands in his pockets. He had seen Sam thinking about it, and he'll be damned if he starts thinking about it too. No matter which issue he came up with against accepting the offer, there was always a taunting voice in the back of his mind, saying things like '_You'd be good at it,'_ and _'You liked the show, didn't you?' _It was enough to irritate him beyond belief.

Sam, meanwhile, was thinking about making it work. They had done stranger things for money when he was growing up. And from what he saw, it was a respectable club, not some skeezy joint. There must be rules and stuff they could work out to be comfortable. Crowley seemed to want them enough. But from the look on Dean's face, Sam knew better than to try and discuss it now- he was still heated from Crowley's offer. They walked in silence, each immersed in his own thoughts.

Halfway down the hallway, they jumped to the side as the door on their right swung open, almost hitting them. A women stepped out, still giggling, almost tripping in her heels. Her skirt was extremely short, a corner of it lifted up and tangled with her skirt. Her bright green underwear was clearly visible. Not that Sam was looking….Her strappy shirt was hanging off a shoulder, and her hair was tangled in the back, She stumbled, almost running into Sam, and he steadied her so she didn't face plant into the carpet.

The next person through the door was one of the strippers. He had curly dark brown hair, flashing brown eyes, and a pair of blue and black wings dangling from his fingers. "Oh, hello! I'm Raguel." he greeted, smiling slightly. He had a black button-down shirt on, the buttons undone, over a pair of jean shorts. "Sorry, I already have another customer waiting, but after that…." he shrugged, smile growing wider, looking them both up and down.

Sam's eyes widened. He had thought prostitution was illegal! After a moment of confusion and slight panic, Crowley's earlier words came floating back to him- _'private rooms are to be discussed with the dancers only.' _He coughed harshly. So it was all 'hush hush' if it happened? His willingness to try and make it work here was knocked down a few pegs.

Dean shifted uneasily, giving a little cough. "What? No, no no no… we're not… I mean… thanks, but… um…" He shook his head, abruptly turning around. "Come on, Sam!" he snapped. Sam shrugged at the dancer, smiling a little as he followed Dean to the stairs. Raguel watched, his brow furrowed slightly, before heading back into the room to clean up the pillows thrown across the room. The women left after slipping two crumpled hundreds into his pocket, a dazed look on her face.

"Geez, everyone in this joint is nuts." Dean muttered as they spiraled down the stairs. Sam huffed a laugh behind him, already looking out onto the floor. The dancers were still milling among the customers, although it looked like there were a couple missing. '_They're probably upstairs.'_ Sam though, wrinkling his bartender was still mixing drinks, and from here Sam could see the bouncer- Hellhound?- lurking in a corner, watching out for trouble-makers. Suddenly, he bumped into Dean (who had stopped walking at the bottom of the stairs), almost falling over the side. "Dude," he said, poking him.

In front of Dean was the dancer in the trench coat. He had almost run into Dean on his way up the stairs, but had stopped just in time. "Excuse me," he said, surprising Dean with how deep and gruff his voice was and damn his eyes were _blue_. Dean caught himself spacing out a bit, inwardly shaking himself.

"Uh, sorry." Dean said. "I'm Dean." he said, holding out a hand and putting on a smile. Sam raised his eyebrow as he watched the exchange. The dancer just tilted his head to the side, a slight squint in between his eyes, staring at him. Dean withdrew his hand, clearing his throat and shifting. Sam poked him again, harder, still stuck on the small staircase.

"My name is Castiel." the dancer finally replied, nodding slightly. "Now if you'll excuse me…." he murmured, not taking his eyes off Dean as he moved towards the stairs. Sam pressed his back against the railing as Castiel brushed past him, almost falling over yet again.

"Dude, what gives?" Sam hissed as he was finally allowed to step down off the stairs. Dean had had that _look_ on his face, one that usually ended up with Sam hanging a sock on the door and sitting outside the hotel room for an hour or two.

Dean looked back at him, brow furrowed. "What?"

"Why'd you just freeze up like that? I almost fell off the stairs." Sam complained, his shoulders brushing up against others' as they made their way towards the door.

"I did not _freeze up_." Dean retorted. "The guy was in my way, I stopped, we talked, end of story. Isn't that what people normally do?" And if the guy happened to be pretty good-looking and an amazing dancer, then so what? He could talk to who he wanted to, couldn't he?

Sam glanced down at him, one eyebrow raised. "Normal people don't introduce themselves to a stripper like that, Dean. If I didn't know any better…." he shook his head, the idea surfacing in his mind making him want to make fun of Dean even more.

Dean stopped again, turning to face Sam. "If you didn't know any better _what_?" he demanded, frowning at him. Suspicion and annoyance were easily visible on his face.

Sam blew a breath out, shrugging, a small grin playing along the edges of his mouth. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to flirt with him." he answered, lips twitching as his smile became more pronounced.

Dean stared at him for a second before glaring, shaking his head, and turning back towards the door. "I was not flirting with him- he's a male stripper for god's sake. I was just being nice." He almost ran into the guy, so he might as well try and shake his hand and talk to him. Sam was just messing around, as usual.

"Well you weren't nice to the other two strippers that we've met." Sam pointed out helpfully, flinching as Hellhound appeared out of nowhere to open the door for them. He tried to remember the strippers' strange names. "I mean, with Haniel you were just kinda rude," he added, ignoring Dean's indignant face, "and with Raguel you looked like a deer in headlights."

As they crossed the dark and abandoned street, Dean _psh_ed, taking out the keys to his baby. "I was not a deer in headlights. It's just… strange, is all, having another guy hit on you." he explained, sliding into the car. He's had that happen before, _plenty_ of times. It never failed to make him uncomfortable.

Getting in the car, Sam chuckled. "I dunno Dean, you looked pretty spooked to me. And I know what your flirting smile looks like. I've seen you use it hundreds of times on girls, and you definitely tried it on Castiel." he said firmly. He grinned smugly at the dawning of confusion and surprise that washed over Dean's face. He could almost hear the panicked thoughts inside his brother's head.

Dean was rigidly reviewing the interaction. Well shit- did he use the same smile on Castiel? If he did, it was definitely unconsciously. Definitely. He doesn't swing that way. Nope, he likes boobs as much as the next guy. And a nice butt. Although, if he had to guess, it looked like Castiel had a ni- _how about no. _He sharply cleared his throat.

"So, Sammy, did you find any stripper boys to your liking?" he asked, deftly changing the subject as the engine roared to life, coaxing a small smile onto his face.

Sam turned towards him, sporting one of his famous bitch-face. "Yes, Dean, I met a male stripper tonight and he made me forget all about Jess." He rolled his eyes, turning back to look out the window as the lit-up city buildings _whoosh_ed past. "We'll be as happy together as you and Castiel." he mumbled after a second, a small smile coming onto his face as Dean glared at him.

"Shut up!"

* * *

"Hey, guys! Crowley wants to talk to all of us before we leave tonight!" Camael called down the hall, pulling his t-shirt over his golden hair. A few groans could be heard from the dressing rooms as the dancers gathered their clothes and bags, all of them wanting to go home.

In Gabriel and Castiel's room, Gabriel dramatically slumped into his chair and moaned loudly. "All I want is to go home and eat and sleep!" he wailed, kicking childishly at his bag of clothes on the floor. A small grin played on Castiel's lips as he pulled on his sweater. His bag was already sitting at the door, costume and wings packed inside. He had been hoping to get home a bit early tonight, but obviously that wasn't happening.

"Come, Gabriel. The quicker we go, the quicker we can leave." he intoned, stooping down to grab his bag on the way out the door. He heard Gabriel heave a sigh and follow him, albeit slowly. Out in the hall he could see the other dancers slowly leaving their rooms, heading down the stairs. He fell in step next to Ariel, who was normally always with Azrael.

Ariel glanced up at him, a small grin already on his face. "Azrael was taking too long to leave." he explained, seeing Castiel's confused expression. "Besides, he's in a bad mood. Dunno who pissed in his cereal…." They both chuckled, knowing Azrael was famous for his somewhat-dangerous mood swings. Looking down, Castiel could see a black and white tip of Ariel's wings sticking out of his bag.

"I don't even know what this meeting is going to be about. We didn't have any fights or problems. It was a good night!" Michael complained as he came up behind them. He was dragging his dark brown wings behind him, his mouth thinned in annoyance. "I swear, that Scottish bastard just loves to keep us here when we don't have to be."

"Michael, just shut up! No one wants to be here, so just quit your bitching." Azrael shouted from the back of the group. Michael clenched his jaw, but didn't say anything else as he sped forward towards the stairs. Castiel listened silently, a frown furrowing his brow. Ever since Metatron and Sandalphon had been murdered, all of the dancers and been more touchy and on edge. It was understandable, but regrettable. Tensions were too high between the dancers.

As they all trooped down the stairs, they saw even Balthazar and Hound were sitting with Crowley at a table. The dancers filled in seats around them, forming a large circle. Once they were all seated- and Gabriel and Lucifer stopped poking and pushing each other- Crowley stood up. "Hello, boys." Various greetings were mumbled. "So, as some of you knew- though apparently not _all _of you-" he began, shooting a look at Camael, who rolled his eyes, "we had two special guests tonight." Jophiel and Haniel began muttering to one another, while Raguel was rapidly whispering to Uriel. Grudging curiosity was swelling throughout the group.

As Castiel watched Crowley gesture for silence, he narrowed his eyes in thought. Two special guests… he didn't see anyone unusual tonight, mostly just the regulars. Unless…. "They were two boys, brothers. One was about moose size, though I actually think he was the younger." Crowley shook his head once, smirking. Castiel's eyes widened, surprise shooting through his system. So the guys he ran into on the steps _were _Crowley's "guests". Why were they special? They looked like regular patrons, although coming with your brother was unusual, he supposed.

"Anyway, I offered them the two open spots." Crowley announced without preamble, interrupting Castiel's meandering thoughts. The small group erupted. People were loudly muttering amongst themselves, some were even shouting above the din. "Have they ever even preformed before? I mean, we don't even know who these guys _are_!" Zadkiel's voice rose above the rest, and the other dancers simmered down. Zadkiel stood up, his brown hair glinting blonde in the dim lights. "Come on, we all worked our asses off before even showing up, and now they're just going to come in here with us?"

"Hey, he didn't say that they accepted the offer!" Jophiel called out from his seat. Various agreements and disagreements broke out again, and Crowley paced in the middle of them, looking amused as he rolled his ever-present tumbler of scotch in his right hand. Castiel stayed silent, looking down, just thinking.

The two brothers were definitely good looking enough, and they looked strong enough to become good dancers. But it sounded like they had never danced before, and judging from the angry whispers all around him, that was a major problem. Before they were allowed to preform here, they all had to go through a difficult audition and rigorous training to meet Crowley's standard of quality. It had been extremely hard and tiring, but they were all the better for it. Somehow he didn't think that the two had accepted the job. Although, the one who had introduced himself to Castiel- Dean- was someone that Castiel found he wouldn't mind dancing with. But, first of all, "Did they accept?" he called. The other dancers fell silent, wanting to hear the answer.

Crowley paused, turning to face him. "Well, not as of yet. But there is no doubt in my mind that I have found our next two dancers." Castiel narrowed his eyes, but Uriel voiced his question before he could.

"How do you know that they'll accept it? From what others were telling me, they were… uncomfortable with the ones of us that they met." His sharp British accent cut across the group, and his arms were crossed expectantly, one blonde eyebrow raised.

Crowley sighed, barely suppressing an eye roll. "Because I know people. I can read them, I can manipulate them. How do you think I crawled so high in the business world?" That earned a few chuckles. "Dean and Sam may not know it yet, but they were amazed at what they saw tonight. And this was just a regular show! It'll bring them back, again and again, until they realize that they do want to do it. In fact, I'd bet my life that one- or even both of them- are as… _sexually fluent_ as you lot." he finished with a snicker. There were a few more chuckles, and the angry mutterings had mostly died down. "Once they accept, they'll go through the same training that you did. Hell, I'll even get a couple of you to train them. Fair is fair is fair. Anything else?" Crowley glanced over the group, eyebrows raised. "Well, if there are no more questions, you lot can go. See you tomorrow, boys." With that he turned around and jogged up the stairs, most likely going to gather his belongings before leaving.

The dancers stood up, talking quietly amongst themselves again. Castiel caught snatches of their conversations, though, and they were mostly about the Winchesters. Some, like Raphael and Haniel (who were known for being some of the kindest people here), were musing about when the brothers would be back, and when they would accept. Others- mostly Azrael, Camael, and Zadkiel- were still angry about the "easy ride" the brothers were going to get. Most, though, seemed to be in favor of giving the boys a chance. Castiel was one of them- he was excited to have new dancers join, and he was excited to see the Winchesters again. Anyone who attracted that much attention from Crowley had to be incredibly interesting, and if the small interaction with Dean had anything to show for Castiel, he would not be disappointed.


	4. Just Another Day in the Life

**As always, thank you so much to my awesome beta 00skyfall 3**

**Still searching for a gif maker, because I would love to have scenes gif-ed at some point.**

**Opinions on plots, events, and ships are welcome any time. If you draw any fanart or anything you an send it to me and I'll link it to the story and put it on my Tumblr!**

**SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG D: School and jobs and sports have kept me so busy :(  
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**ALSO: I have decided that, later on in the story, there will be Samifer. If you're not a fan of the ship I apologize, but I have really come to like it. I'll warn you when it is featured in a chapter. I'm not objeced to throwing in other ships for Sam, however ;)  
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**Here is a new visual guide for the layout of the club: **** post/61980033975**  


**Follow me on Tumblr for new chapters, updates, fanart, and visual guides for the story at itsfnickingawesomeness  
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* * *

Dean paced around the kitchen, his old staticky radio blaring a Led Zeppelin song as he hummed along. It was around five on a Friday night, and what was he doing? Making dinner for himself and his kid brother, with no plans for the night. This was definitely not how he imagined his adult life to play out. In his teenage dreamings, there had been a lot more hot women and awesome cars. At least he was eating good food tonight instead of greasy take-out.

"Son of a bitch!" he cursed as the portable grill, perched on the stove, spat hot grease onto his hand. He stuck his fingers in his mouth, glaring at the offending burger patties sizzling innocently on the charred metal. Turning around, he opened up the tiny fridge, reaching in and grabbing another beer. The chill of it soothed his irritated skin as he snapped the cap off and took a long drink.

He sighed as he looked around at the tiny empty apartment. Sam should be home any minute from class... Glancing over at the old clock situated on the wall, he sighed again as he saw it had stopped once again, reading 3:38. He'd have to fix that up- it was really getting ridiculous. It seemed like everything was breaking in this place. The kitchen was only about fifty square feet, the radio didn't go louder than sixty decibels, and the hot water ran out after five minutes. But, hey- who was he to complain? It was somewhere- a roof over their head, a (relatively) soft place sleep, and food to eat. It was a lot better than they'd ever had. Besides, with Sam going to Stanford, it was all they could afford.

Dean wiped his hands on his jeans, burger grease sliding on top of the engine grease and motor oil already smeared on them. He had spent the entire day working at Bobby's garage, throwing around car parts and practically bathing in sweat and car juices. He was itching for a shower, but he was starving, and food always came first. Besides, he was a messy cook, so there was no use in getting cleaned up twice.

Poking the cooking meat, Dean grunted approvingly and lifted them off of the grill and onto the waiting buns. He set the paper plate of food on the table, glancing yet again at the door. He was going to wait two minutes tops before chowing down, Sam or not. You snooze, you lose. Sitting down at the table he sipped his beer, waiting impatiently for Sam to get in so that the food didn't get cold. Just as he was debating eating _all_ of the burgers- just to teach him a lesson- he heard the familiar sound of Jess's little Toyota pulling in the driveway.

A few seconds later, the enormous frame of his little brother banged through the front door, still waving at his girlfriend. Throwing his backpack through the doorway to his bedroom- the only bedroom in the apartment- Sam walked into the kitchen, face brightening at the sight of food. "You made burgers? Awesome." He sat down and took a bite, and then started wolfing it down.

Dean raised his eyebrows before starting his own food. He made a groan of satisfaction at the greasy warmth. "This hits the spot, doesn't it." he said through a mouthful of food.

"Chew and swallow, Dean." Sam reprimanded, earning an eye roll in return. "But yea, it's really good. Don't suppose there's any fruit or veggies to go along with them?" he added hopefully.

"Please, Sam, I'd much rather use my hard-earned money for hamburger meat and alcohol than for gross green stuff." Dean retorted, scrunching up his face. Sam sighed, but didn't pursue the subject.

The rest of the meal passed in silence, punctuated by the occasional quip, threat, or appreciative noise (mostly from Dean). After the table was cleared of all food, Dean stood up and headed over to the couch. "Let's find some Star Trek on TV- I'm sure it's on somewhere."

Sam froze at his spot standing next to the table, his eyebrows raised. "It's a Friday night, and you don't have any plans? Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?" he asked, only half joking.

"Ha ha, very funny Sam." Dean responded scathingly. "I'm just not in the mood. Besides, what is there to do anyway?" Dean plunked down on the ratty couch that doubled as his bed, propping his feet up on the low coffee table (which wobbled dangerously). "We're banned from the movie theater for sneaking in, we can't go to most of the bars 'cause the bikers hate us for pool sharking, and there aren't any good strip clubs close by." he continued, ticking them off on his fingers. '_Well…_' There was one good strip club, but he sure as hell wasn't going back there. '_Not yet, anyway.'_

Sam furrowed his brow, seeming to read his thoughts. "Well, if you wanted to go to a strip club, why not Supernatural?" he offered, settling down next to Dean on the couch. It had seemed like Dean had really liked the performance, more than he was letting on. Sam had seen the lack of tension and the half-cocked smile Dean sported when he was enjoying himself. At least Sam wasn't afraid to admit that the club had been pretty awesome.

Dean scoffed, throwing a hand in the air defensively. "Dude. We went there two days ago. Even if the show was… not bad, it's not going to be like an every night thing. Besides, Mr. Creepy Suit Monkey is still there, trying to get us to strip for him. No thanks, I'm good." He reached over and grabbed the remote, stony countenance signaling that the conversation was over.

Sam sighed, leaning back into the couch cushions. Something had to be done eventually about that club, although how it would turn out remained to be seen. It had been riding on his mind the entire day, just little bits and pieces of it. The snazzy decorating, the pounding music, the graceful spins of the dancers- it all distracted him and pinched his brain during every class. He wasn't sure what it said about his inner psyche or whatever (his Psych 105 class didn't exactly cover gay strip clubs), but he found he was actually interested in working there. Dean had always been afraid of change, whereas Sam was more willing to give things a chance. He stole a glance at Dean- who had calmed down a bit and was now enjoying an old episode of Star Trek- and sighed again, wondering if this was all going to resolve itself anytime soon.

* * *

Castiel was, as usual, one of the first dancers to arrive at the club. They were supposed to report at 8:30, so that they had enough time to get dressed and stretched and so on. Most of the dancers showed up at 8:45 or 9, and a few- such as Gabriel and Lucifer- usually didn't show up until 9:30. Crowley either didn't notice or didn't care, so long as they were ready by show time.

Knocking at the metal door, he looked around him as he waited for Hellhound to open it. The street was mostly deserted, except for a homeless man lying unconscious at the other end of the block. It was not an ideal location for a club, but they got enough business just by word of mouth that it made up for the less-than-desirable location. And it was out of the way of interference, which was probably the main reason for Crowley picking it.

The small window in the door creaked as it swung open, and Hellhound gave a grunt of recognition before shoving the door open. Castiel wasn't sure if he had ever heard Hellhound say anything; as far as Castiel knew he only grunted and growled. It was… slightly unsettling. He gave a tight lipped smile as he skirted around the bouncer, heading down the spiral staircase to his room.

He could hear Camael's booming voice coming from below as he descended the stairs, a questioning tone ringing through it. A quieter, crisper voice answered back, becoming understandable as Castiel entered the small hallway. "You should have seen this woman, Cam. I swear she hadn't brushed her teeth in days, and I think she had bugs living in her hair. It was _disgusting_."

Poking his head in Camael's room, he saw that they were still in their day clothes, just talking. "Hello." Castiel greeted, giving a small wave. Camael grinned slightly and waved back, while Uriel merely nodded his head, lights glinting off of his pale blonde hair. Uriel was always the one to complain about the less than ideal customers- he had a bit of a germ problem. It was always something with their hair, or their clothes, or even their tipping methods. He was actually incredibly picky about those kinds of things._ 'Not the best thought process for having a job like this.'_

Moving on, Castiel heard Raphael humming to himself in his room. It was a waltz, probably one of Strauss's. He smiled when he heard it- Castiel got tired of the pounding music from the club sometimes. He reached his door, pulling out his keychain to unlock it. He placed his bag on the countertop as he walked in, relaxing into a chair with a sigh. Tonight was solo night, meaning each dancer got a song by themselves. It was always more stressful, not having anyone else on stage with you; but it was also thrilling, getting to have the spotlight on you and you only.

Castiel checked the clock above the door, the red numbers reading 8:45. He had a good hour to get dressed and stretched, so he could take his time. It was one of the reasons he always was here on time- not feeling rushed to get ready and having time to relax before dancing upstairs. He spent the next forty minutes meticulously stretching, hearing the occasional greeting and conversations as someone else came in for the night. Time ticked away as Castiel finished his ministrations and began changing into his costume. It was a routine that he found relaxed him. Spending some time alone each night gave him some time to think and process and wonder.

Tonight's thoughts were on the future of the club. Two dancers had been killed already, and had not been replaced yet. The police hadn't gotten involved, and the murders went unreported. No one cared about the neighborhood strippers. The routines every night were a little bit off, and the performance parts of the night were little shorter, without Sandalphon and Metatron. Crowley had, apparently, found people to be put in their place, but the only problem was that the brothers were not agreeing to the proposition.

If he had to be honest, it irked and confused Castiel. The Winchesters obviously lead a rough life, that much was obvious from their ratty clothes and prickly attitudes he'd heard about. The money would be welcome, and he'd seen their faces in the crowd last night- they loved every minute of the show. The offer, in his opinion, was brilliant. Automatic acceptance, no auditions, and previous knowledge of how the club worked. These were things that no other dancer here was offered, no matter how good they were. They should have leapt at the chance. His thoughts turned round and round in circles, chasing after each other like Lucifer chasing after Gabriel after a prank.

As usual, Gabriel was extremely late getting into the room. He waltzed in at exactly 9:24, munching from a bag of skittles. "Heya Cas!" he greeted cheerful, tossing his bag onto the floor and flopping into a chair.

Castiel's lips twitched from his seat, unable to hide his fondness at Gabriel's infectious presence. "Hello, Gabriel." he replied. "You're a few minutes early tonight." he added, a small smirk creeping across his face.

"Why yes I am. Thank you for noticing!" Gabriel responded, grinning largely, crumpling up the now-empty bag of candy and tossing it into the trashcan. "Did Lucifer beat me here?" His demeanor changed into one of intense focus- apparently this question was of extreme importance.

Nodding slowly in confusion, Castiel answered, "Yes, he arrived a few minutes ago." He flinched back slightly as Gabriel swore loudly and kicked his bag. "DAMNIT! We had a bet that I would get here before him tonight. That fucker…." Gabriel mumbled into angry silence, leaving Castiel to wonder why these two dancers insisted on antagonizing each other so much. He supposed there was some sort of amusement to be found, but he personally didn't see it at all.

After a few more sullen moments, Castiel cleared his throat to get Gabriel's attention. "You should probably get dressed and ready, you know how Crowley can get." Gabriel merely made a flippant noise, waving his hand in the air, before stripping off his jacket and shirt to get changed. Castiel sighed, before walking out of the room. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable around Gabriel changing, but it wasn't necessary to stay in the room. Besides, he might be caught in another fight between Gabriel and Lucifer.

He found his way into Raziel and Haniel's room, where the two were conversing quietly. Castiel knocked before coming in, settling into an empty chair as he greeted them. "So, Cas, we were just talking about Azrael's haircut. He got it a bit shorter than normal, and it's really fluffy looking. It fits him a bit, doesn't it?" Raziel replied, getting immediately to the point.

Haniel shook his head, his lips a thin line. "I don't think it looks good at all." he argued, pointing for emphasis. "When his hair is longer it makes him look more serious, and now it looks like a child's hair. Don't you agree, Cas?" Both dancers stared imploringly at Castiel, and he worked to keep a smile off of his face.

"I, for one, don't have any opinion on Azrael's hair. Firstly, I haven't seen it yet. Secondly, I don't wish to be on the wrong side of Azrael for gossiping about him." Castiel pointed out. Sometimes he felt like the only reasonable one in this building.

"Yea, good point." Raziel pouted.

"You're no fun, Cas." Haniel added, crossing his arms and tilting back his chair. Raziel's eyes flicked to the doorway behind Castiel, and half a second later, a shoe was launched straight through it at Haniel's chest, causing him to fall backwards with a crash. Cas chuckled as Raziel laughed hysterically, and Haniel picked himself up off the floor, sputtering and mumbling. "Who did that?" he asked crossly, glaring out the door.

There was no answer, but Castiel could hear the tell-tale sound of Gabriel's giggle all the way down the hallway. Rolling his eyes, Castiel announced, "I believe it was Gabriel that just ran past. You could probably return his shoe by throwing it at his head." Haneil smirked at that, picking up the show and dashing out the door. A yelp could then be heard, followed by Haniel's snickers as he raced back into his room.

"Done and done." Haniel proclaimed as Raziel continued laughing from the floor. Cas laughed as well, both at Gabriel and Haniel's little pranks. It was a much better atmosphere than in the days beforehand. A shout could then be heard throughout the lower level.

"Okay guys, up and at 'em. Showtime." As they peeked out from their rooms, Camael herded all of the blabbering and stretching dancers, putting them into the line-up for the night. Castiel slid through the crowd to the front, where he was every night they did solos. He was one of- if not _the_- best dancers at the club, according to customers (and Crowley), so he was always opening act or finale. It was flattering, but Castiel didn't see why it mattered who was better than who.

As he heard Crowley make his nightly announcement about the club and its rules, Castiel begins making his way up the stairs and towards the stage. The rest of the strippers followed him, filing into a small space behind the stage that served as a hallway. He could hear people whispering and waiting excitedly for the first act, and it made a little thrill of something like pride go through him. If he could choose the most important redeeming quality of working at a strip club, it would be that people still genuinely watch and enjoy what you do, and that it is still a performance, for both the dancer and the crowd. Stepping onto the stage, Castiel paused, waiting.

As the first notes trickled out of the hidden speakers, Castiel stepped up to the pole and pulled himself up, starting his routine. It was one he'd performed many times, and it was one of his favorites to show. The music changed every time depending on the mood Crowley wanted to set for the club- tonight the song was Demons, which he thought an ironic choice for an angelic-themed club. It had both upbeat and slow verses, however, and it was a good tempo to dance to.

He always felt powerful when he danced. Strong, graceful, free…. It was a strange, but elational, feeling that he enjoyed immensely. The harsh training, the battered body, the bad reputation of the job- none of that mattered to Castiel. All that mattered was this- the act, the performance, the show. It was a simple thing, but it made him happy, and he enjoyed every minute of it. It was… hard to explain, even to the other dancers. But that was okay with Castiel, because he didn't need to explain it. It was his experience, and it didn't matter if others shared it. Not to him, anyway. Not right now.

He swung and hung from the pole, sliding and pulling, spinning and dropping. It was a heady rush, one that he couldn't seem to get enough of. He was always somewhat reluctant to step away from the pole and towards the edge of the stage. There he had to finish his act by stripping for the customers, "giving them a proper show" as Crowley calls it.

As the music finished, he slid to the ground at the edge of the stage. breath heavy, extremely up close and personal with the customers closest to the stage. A few brave ones reached up and tucked twenties and even a few fifties into the waist of his shorts, before falling back and giggling. He sent them a small smile, standing back up, collecting bills as he went. He swept up the last few as Jophiel hopped into view, flashing a dazzling smile to the crowd. "Good luck." Castiel murmured as he slipped past him. Jophiel winked before walking to the middle of the stage, ready to perform.

Castiel walked behind the stage, wanting to put away the money before having to go out for "floor time". He sighed as he turned into his room. It was definitely his least favorite part of the night, and his least favorite part of working as a stripper. He didn't mind the dancing, but being skin-to-skin with strangers was definitely something he did not particularly look forward to. Castiel was glad, though, that he was not forced to entertain in the private rooms. He had very rarely done so, and every time he did he was reminded just how much he disliked it. Luckily, there were plenty of other dancers willing to make the extra sums of money in the locked rooms upstairs. Uriel, Haniel, Raguel, Azrael, and Camael were the favorites for private sessions.

Passing by Zadkiel on his way back up the stairs, Castiel ducked behind the stage to sit and wait in the little hallway there. He sat patiently through the other dancers' acts, dancers leaving and entering the small area as their acts came and went. An hour passed before it was time to walk out among the customers, where they would spend a good three hours. As the 'angels' scattered around the room, Castiel grinned to see Balthazar giving his own private show over by the bar. He did that from time to time, whenever he felt like making more than just a few tips.

A hand caught his thigh and slid upwards as he passed a table. He smiled softly at the bold young girl, taking a step backwards. "Sorry, no touching allowed. Not yet, at least." The girl grinned back, handing him a folded up hundred. Tucking it into his pocket, Castiel stepped forward again, straddling the girl's legs. Her friends at the table giggled and cheered as Castiel danced for her, teasing her and allowing small and quick touches. _Well,_ Castiel thought as he ran a hand down the girl's long brown hair, _it definitely could be worse here._


End file.
